Existence
by Apixabain
Summary: Her own words haunted her. The preacher on the soapbox made pariah, forced to eat her own words. This time, she would be the one regretting. *V3.Ep11 Spoilers* Let there be Yangst.
1. Regrets

Her own words haunted her.

 _"I had someone very dear to me change."_

 _"This is all just...very familiar."_

 _"But you're not him."_

 _"I want to trust you."_

 _"I need you to promise me that you regret having to do what you did."_

The preacher on the soapbox made pariah, forced to eat her own words.

This time, she would be the one regretting.

* * *

All she had ever known was loss.

Her parents, of whom she had no memories.

A peaceful life, rendered impossible simply for what she was.

Someone to lean on, only for her to find a monster behind the mask.

Belonging and love, only for the other to pay the ultimate price.

She didn't ask for this. She didn't ask for _any_ of this. Her life had always been devoid of choices, each day a grotesque reminder of the predestined gears already in place, a crimson carpet laid down before her feet down which she had no choice but to walk.

And when she finally found the courage to be defiant, when she could take no more, of him, of _everything_ … when she finally found acceptance and friendship. When she was finally just beginning to heal…

 _This_ is what she gets in return?

She let out a choked, crazed sob.

Blake felt as if he were right there, behind her, his grip tightening around her neck, slowly squeezing the life out of her. She thought she had run away far enough. How naive. He will never stop chasing.

Their last conversation echoed in her mind, uninvited.

 _"I didn't want this! I wanted - I wanted -"_

Equality? Peace?

No.

In that moment, she just wanted to disappear. To stop existing. To exist was too painful. _Her_ existence was too painful. For herself...and for those she loved. She looked down at Yang, her breathing shallow and weak, and her face so, so pale.

An hour ago she had been so full of life, so full of anger. Yet Blake could do nothing but reach out her hand. Do nothing as they clashed. Do nothing but watch as Yang arced over her in flight, her expressions flashing from shock, to pain, then to nothing, before crumbling like a ragdoll. She had felt a wet drop fall on her cheek, striking her like a hot brand.

Yang had been crying.

For her.

How she had even made it to Yang's side was a miracle. When Adam swung Wilt to reap her life, her eyes for once would not close to avoid the reality. As she watched the blade approach, she couldn't even open her mouth to beg or plead or pray.

 _Please, save us._

 _Please, save Yang._

That's when the second miracle occurred.

Something inside had taken a hold of her. Her vision shimmered, and then Adam was no longer there. She looked behind. Yang was still there, with her back turned.

She looked left. And there was Adam, blade still mid-swing at a clone of herself, defiantly protecting…

Yang.

Dumbfounded, she shakily reached out to pull the real Yang into her arms. Her semblance had never done that before. She thought she could only clone herself.

She shivered, and instinctively knew her clone had faded. Adam turned, and their eyes met.

So she did what she does best. She ran, carrying Yang, with Adam's cruel voice hounding her mind.

 _You **will** run._

She was nightshade, a poisonous flower that can bring nothing but death. If she'd never met Yang, if she'd never enrolled in Beacon… for an insane second she even thought if she had never met Adam, then he wouldn't have become so warped…

She remembered a sketch lovingly made in a school notebook...

How did it become like this?

She didn't ask to be born. She was a life unwillingly created. Destined to bring only suffering to those around her.

* * *

She woke to the embrace of darkness.

Was this death?

She felt like she was drowning.

In the back of her mind she thought that she was dreaming. But it felt all too real.

Just like the second time she saw her mother.

How had she forgotten about that dream until now?

With every heartbeat, her body felt weaker. As if her life force was being pumped out of her and into the emptiness, so black and devoid of life and light except for the cascading stream of gold…

She couldn't help but reflexively trace toward its origin.

When she found it, the drowning girl rent the silence with a hollowed scream.

When she came to again, she was still falling.

But this time, she tried to be mentally prepared. Tentatively, she tilted her head to the right for a better look.

Her arm was _gone._

It was a clean cut. She didn't even question why it glowed gold.

She had to fight the urge to vomit.

Memories began to replay like they were not her own.

A smiling woman, clad in white. The warm smell of baked goods. A small infant bundled in red, peacefully sleeping. Ruby.

A cleaving scythe, a look of relief that sent a wave of flush up her cheeks, knowing she barely cheated death. Qrow.

The smile of camaraderie, sheer gratefulness for her trust after that terrible, terrible final round fight. Weiss.

A chess piece. Dancing. A warm hug. Tears that unconsciously welled up when she didn't initially believe. Concern. Confusion. A scream. Terror and anger as red as the blade he held over Blake, dripping crimson of _her_ blood.

 _Oh._

She remembered everything.

…

She was going to die, wasn't she?

She didn't expect the first thing on her mind to be the desire to apologize. She felt her legs going numb first, and didn't need to look to know that they were slowly being claimed by the darkness.

 _Sorry Dad, for being yet another woman who's leaving your life._

She could no longer feel her own breaths.

 _Sorry Ruby, for all the pain I'm about to cause you._

The golden stream of light had disappeared. Thankfully, so did the pain.

 _And sorry Blake, for not being able to save you._

She reached out with her left hand, desperately reaching but finding nothing, watching as her fingertips began to fade.

She didn't even realize her own face was damp with tears.

 _Ah, damn it._

She wanted to live.

…

…

…

 _Then don't go._

As her sight faded to black, she felt a grasp on her wrist.

Her last peculiar thought as she was being lifted up was that she was touching god.

* * *

 ** **A/N:**** Atropa belladona (nightshade) is a poisonous plant which causes deadly muscarinic blockade (hot as a hare, blind as a bat, etc. etc.). Interestingly, it is part of the tomato family. Whoever was brave or stupid enough to first eat a tomato must've had balls of steel.

Last week I was reading this nice whiterose fic and was like 'Wow, you know, maybe I was wrong. Maybe whiterose is the pairing that has the most potential for angst" and then RT was like NOPE lol you can't touch bumblebee levels of emotional trauma you fookin' idiot.

I REPENT FOR MY SINS. I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS ;A; Couldn't even focus on my studies for a whole day.

I don't think I've ever faced a season finale with such equal parts anticipation and dread before.

Gonna write at least one more chapter (IT'LL BE HAPPIER). Have to do some serious studying now so I can be successful and earn money$ to support my fandom habits. Cheers!


	2. Reckless Abandon

It wasn't until her vision began dangerously flickering to black at the periphery that she realized not all the blood trickling down her leg was Yang's.

Then, the weight of everything became too much to bear.

in her next breath she felt the world turn as her legs gave away. Bloodied gold and sable unceremoniously crashed against forest floor in a pitiful heap.

Blake felt her legs physically leaden and her energy drain. Whatever adrenaline that had enabled her to make their desperate escape vanished at that moment, abandoning her as capriciously as it came. In the next instant, the cavern of its absence became filled with unadulterated pain, as if her wounds remanded double retribution for having been ignored.

Spasms wracked her body, electrocution crescendoing with each heartbeat until Blake could only curl into herself and gasp desperately, mind muddled with broken prayers to whatever deity would listen to keep her conscious.

Clumsily hands made their way to the open gash on her abdomen, finding only sickly damp warmth that soon leaked between her interlaced fingers. At this rate she won't even be able to help herself, let alone Yang. If she passed out now, she supposed she and Yang would have a not quite so romantic reunion in the afterlife. Yang would've chucked at her gallows humor.

But words had always betrayed her when they truly counted. She can put on a pretense of strength as easily as a snake sheds skin, but she knew she can't pull wool over her own eyes.

She was such a fool.

 _I'm not running_ , her own vanity tauntingly echoed. Now she has a lifetime to attempt to repay a moment's false bravado, if even that is long enough.

Through pain-hazed eyes, she pushed away her thoughts and forced her focus purely on the fuzzy outline of Yang.

For the briefest moment, suppressed thoughts of _him_ could not be dammed. Perhaps she'd always known, but managed to avert her gaze each time. After tonight…

 _Blood begets blood._ Blake had hated the phrase, the vehemence with which Adam had always spat it. But she didn't expect it to be a double-edged blade, to have the first person to bleed for her feel like the end of everything. Not acknowledging the monster he had become was no longer possible. Of what she knew Adam was capable of, what she knew he would do should he find them.

Maybe it would be better if a Grimm found them first. Compared to the alternative, it seemed almost...merciful.

He'd make her helpless, not even able to make the choice to die. He would kill Yang first. Make sure he never hit a vital spot as Wilt rained down a thousand crimson strikes, complemented by a thousand deathless screams, until Yang bleeds and bleeds and _bleeds_ until she can quench the earth's bloody thirst no more. And he would watch Blake break until her sanity is as irreparable as the shattered moon-

 _NO._

She willed her hands to push the wound, and felt the world go faint. It _hurt_ so much. But it worked. She snapped back into reality.

She lay there for some unknown minutes, breaths still hitched but evening in tempo. The bleeding slowed.

Her tentative attempt to sit up only rewarded her with a crucifying spasm, but she didn't care. She had to live. Until she can secure Yang's safety, she had to live. She owed her at least that much.

Slowly, she half-crawled, half-dragged herself next to Yang with renewed, frantic energy. She ran a shaky hand to tuck a flock of golden hair behind Yang's soft ears. If it wasn't for the deep furrows etching Yang's brows, she could almost be mistaken for sleeping.

Her gaze trailed down Yang's chest heaving with shallow efforts, sleeves stained with blood crusted over and freshly flowing alike-

 _Her aura. It's gone_. The terrible realization that the wound which had shimmered gold was now dribbling crimson rivulets sent Blake into a panic. Scrambling to the closest part of Yang she can reach, she grasped Yang's outstretched left hand and squeezed into it the last of her strength, shivering as her aura flowed into Yang to latch her to this world. She gasped at the numbness of spiraling drain that made her feel like a sponge being wrung dry, but she did not let go.

"Don't go," she whispered. She knows she doesn't have the strength to save them both, but at least she'll have the courage to ask for Yang's forgiveness in the next life.

* * *

That's how Sun found them, hand linked in hand, dancing aura of shadows waning, slurped up by insatiable golden flames. If Beacon wasn't burning in the backdrop like some macabre fantasy he might have found the sight beautiful.

"Dust, goddamn it. Neptune, grab Yang. At the rate Blake's losing her aura both of them are goners." Neptune catches the tint of panic in Sun's voice and gives a nod, rushing to the fallen pair. Sun cradles Blake into his arms, shivering at the coldness of her skin, pallorous as death. He'd seen corpses that looked more alive.

Neptune gently pried apart Blake and Yang's interlocked hands, and Blake shuddered in unconscious relief.

When she finally woke, Sun was scowling, face furrowed with concern.

"What the hell were you thinking? You _know_ you didn't have enough strength to heal Yang. It's bad enough she's that hurt, but you almost died, too, and it would've been all for nothing!"

"Then I should have died! Even if that gave her a sliver of a chance, I would've gladly died," she blurted out without thinking. Sun stared incredulously as words caught in his throat.

Her head was cradled to her chest, and she dared not look up.

"This is what I bring to those closest to me. I'm a curse, I get people hurt. I run away but my past catches up, and all that happens is people around me getting nearly killed," she says bitterly, gesturing at Yang. "Yang tried to save me and this is how I repay her. Even if I had nine lives to give, I would've thrown them all at her feet, and even then it wouldn't be enough."

"Do you even hear yourself right now?" Sun snaps, his head suddenly throbbing. "Look, how do you think Yang would feel if the first thing she hears waking up is that you're dead?" He gets nothing but silence in response, and sighs in exasperation.

"Even if you don't give a damn about yourself, at least think about the people you care about, and those who care about you."

 _Those who care about you…_

She couldn't help thinking back to that frenzied evening spent in a dimly lit classroom, when she had opened her eyes and saw for the first time in her miserable life, for all she is, that she is loved.

Yang, Ruby, Weiss, Sun...no matter how she disappointments them, they will stubbornly love her and get hurt for her, forgive her and embrace her no matter how much she made them bleed. She makes up her mind then, though to Sun she says nothing, preferring to bore her eyes resolutely into the ground. She lets her gaze linger over Yang a final time, memorizing the tantric rhythm of her soft breaths and the messy furl of uncurling blonde locks, always serene in slumber and gentle with warmth.

At this moment, she cannot come to love herself. She'll run, knowing this time she'll hurt Yang by her own hands. It's better this way, she tells herself; Yang may even grow to hate her, but she deserves that more than the love and fierce loyalty Yang had given her.

She'll run. But not away, not this time.

That night, she slips silently from camp aboard a departing Atlasian cruiser bound for Mistral, scouting for the remnants of the White Fang.

* * *

 **A/N:** Life has gotten very busy since February, and this chapter almost didn't happen had it not been for a random shower thought one day that resulted in me writing up chapter 3 in a hurry. The soundtrack sounds great! Divide is such a great running song, I'd highly recommend it to everyone. As for the recent RT hub-bub, my only bemoanings are that we could've potentially had a Bumbleby fight scene that would've sent half the fandom into tonic clonic fits. Oh, what could have been. And thanks for the kind comments ❤


	3. Epimetheus

_Months later, deep in the forests of Mistral_

She followed the shadow and plunged through the shattered window headfirst. What she saw caused her momentum to crash to a halt.

Slit-like darkness gaping from ebony white, the blackest of tar oozing from the trabeculae of bone. For over two months she had been chasing Blake. Grimm hordes, highway bandits, White Fang goons-she's dealt with them all. What she did not expect was to run into _him_ first.

"You!" She sputtered and her body coiled like a cocked gun, thrumming with the promise of violence.

Briefly but obsessively she had thought about this moment before, between the tortuous rehabilitation sessions and nightmare-fueled nights. Her ponderings were always short, for even the faintest hint of his face across her mind was enough to rile her into a cold sweat and a boiling mood. She thought she hated him enough to kill him, all contrary to what Taiyang had taught her of the taboo line she must never cross.

But now she stands before him, battle-scarred and not entirely whole despite how much assistance she got from Atlas' finest military technologists, and felt a cold sweat grip her. Teeth chattered strongly enough to rattle ribs through her sternum, and she realized she was afraid, and this foreign emotion scared her even more.

Of all the swatches of emotions that colored her palette for Adam, she didn't think fear a shade that was even possible; yet there it was, ugly, splotched, threatening to bleed into her reds and golds. _Adam,_ whose name she had to find herself from a tattered tear of a scavenged old notebook of Blake's. _Adam,_ who spoke not a single word to her the night he casually reaped from her partner, pride, and fiery bluster with a casual swing as if dismissing a fly.

As if reading her thoughts, his pursed lips slanted in the faintest smile, half making Yang think he had been expecting her.

 _Had he?_ She felt the panic take root one stone's throw deeper.

He took one step forward; she subconsciously takes one step back. Weakly she laughed at the husk she'd become, and shakily raised her guard in a half-hearted stance, fully cognizant that if he rushed her now, she wouldn't be able to budge an inch.

The sharp breath she took as his sword rocketed from the scabbard directly for her heart made the sideways force that pummeled into her the next moment all the more painful, as she is sent flying into a box of crates. Her vision exploded into pure white starburst as she pawed blindly at the offending force now pressed heavily against her, vaguely registering the crunching of glass beneath.

"...Yang! You-you're okay. You're okay. Thank dust you're okay." Frantic chanting of someone hovered above and very near filled her ears like prayers. The impossibly familiar voice Yang didn't want to admit how much she'd craved.

As the flashes faded all Yang saw was Blake, and naturally she wondered if she's hallucinating; cascading curtains of charcoal black hair framed that delicate but strong face, those eyes warm as glowing coals. She blinked but Blake stayed solid and real and hovering above, shielding every inch of Yang's body with her own.

Something on the ground distracts her, flecks glimmering like jewels. Perhaps it's because her nature is also fire that she instinctively felt they were dangerous. _Explosive red dust._ Surging forward with sudden wild adrenaline, she bolted up to tackle a surprised Blake backwards, just as a screeching bullet punched past where her head just was to embed deeply into the broken glass vials spilling forth their dangerous cargo from the crushed crate the pair had landed on.

Volatile red dust readily took to the resulting spark. To Yang, the world exploded.

* * *

She'd seen him come and go from the warehouse every day for the past three days, always at half-past six when the sun skimmed the horizon before dipping to its daily rest. The place smelled of red dust, a giant heap of boxed up dynamite stockpiled for whatever atrocity he'd conjure up in that sick mind of his.

Or, she realized, it could be a sitting bomb, ready to explode with the faintest incentive. On the fourth day she set forth to end it all.

Dashing footsteps warned her, and from her nook high up in the canopies she saw Adam emerge from the forest. She palmed the Molotov tucked at her waist like a good-luck charm. Today his pace was a swift run, and she watched as he failed to slow his speed as he neared the bolted doors. In fact, he ignored them entirely, opting to dive straight through a ground-floor window at full speed instead, shattering the drowsy evening silence with the eruption of glass. Something was wrong.

Then _she_ bolts into view and Blake nearly cried out.

 _No. No. Not you. Not here!_ Her internal screams fell deaf to Yang's ears. She leapt nimbly down and rolled to break her fall, but when she looked up it was only in time to catch the last glimpses of wild, fluttering flaxen hair.

She accelerated into a running leap through the shattered window, except unlike Yang she landed on her feet and did not slow, just barely making it in time as she rammed the brawler away from Adam's sword. They landed in a jumble of limbs and torsos and she inadvertently ended up straddling her partner, faces inches apart.

Then she's drowning in that familiar lilac again, and she's not sure what words gushed from her mouth while her eyes water and sting; simultaneous guilt and relief churn within her like a storm.

She tries to distract herself by blinking the tears away when Yang pushed her back, before everything erupted into flames.

* * *

Her head throbbed and everything hurt like hell when she clawed at the walls to a stand, and saw Blake and Adam were already clashing blades. Adam's blows were unyielding and Blake was being driven back, and when a stray swing went unparried, Yang watched the blade dig deep into Blake's thigh only for Blake to sublime into smoke, reappear behind him, and lock him into a chokehold. Without hesitation he broke his sword arm free and plunged Wilt through himself and then her; the surprised look dissolving into pain on Blake's face burned into Yang's eyes as she tackled them apart.

He's insane and she knew. She tried to stem Blake's bleeding and pull them from the approaching Adam at the same time, who doesn't even seem to notice his self-inflicted wound. When Blake gets up this time it was much slower, but she still insisted on positioning Yang behind her.

"Yang, you have to go. It isn't safe here," Blake gritted, resolutely blocking Yang from Adam's view. From her body language, Yang saw she wasn't very interested in leaving herself. "Please, run. This isn't your fight. You can't beat him!"

Her statement licked at the blonde's pride a little. "And you think you can?"

"I have to try. I can't let things get any worse, or risk you from getting any more hurt-" she took a shaky breath-"and what I've done is already unforgivable." The last line punched with such conviction that Yang could only sputter.

"What? What are you talking about?" But Blake's apparently done answering and returned to her death dance with Adam. Her exhaustion is apparent and she seemed preoccupied, constantly sneaking backward glances at Yang, and her parries and chain throws became increasingly distracted and unclean.

"Blake Belladonna, if you insist on repeatedly getting in the way for this human girl, at least try to put up a fight," Adam snarled as Wilt and Gambol Shroud ground sparks in another clash. The look Blake gave Yang was plaintive and begging like that of a cornered prey.

"Please. I can't let him hurt you again. Please, just-just run."

Adam followed her gaze to Yang and frowned. "You seem to be the root of my problems. A pity I couldn't finish you off, but I guess neither of us expected beloved here to join us."

" _Don't_ call her that." She ground her teeth so hard that they may well break. "Don't ever talk to her like that, in my presence, _ever."_

He seemed to almost contemplate the thought. "Your presence can be...taken care of."

Adam whirled around and rushed Yang with such speed that she only had time to put up a defensive stance, only to land on her ass for the third time as Blake threw herself bodily in between, shoving Yang aside with a rough push while Gambol Shroud screeched in its interception of Wilt. With a wild yell Blake whipped her blade upward carving a doubled arch as lethal black steel unfolded in a flurry of assaults. But Adam parried expertly, his expression almost bored while slowly pacing backwards, pushed by Blake's drive.

But Blake's plan was working. Slowly, she edged Adam away from Yang toward the largest pile of dust crates lumped at the opposite end of the warehouse, inch by inch, until his heel clicked against wood. She reached for a bottle of something clipped to her waist and hoisted it up high, and all three of them froze.

Yang was the one to break the spell.

"No!" She started to bolt forward but was forced to dive again as Gambol Shroud's sheath whistled dangerously over her. Without looking back, Blake flung the remaining half of her weapon at the masked faunus, who neatly side-stepped from its trajectory; the ribbon grew taut in her hands as Gambol Shroud found its true intended target, and she whipped it back without hesitation with all her strength, toppling over her the boxes of dust over herself and Adam.

The Molotov shattered at Adam's feet and the combustion was instant, whipping up a fiery maelstrom that blasted Yang backwards and consumed Adam and Blake whole, and over its roar, Yang could swear she'd heard the unuttered whisper of Blake's final "goodbye."

* * *

A/N: I've clearly been watching too much CS:GO. If RWBY were a knife round Blake would win every time.


End file.
